Lucky Number Slevin
by emebalia
Summary: I don't like the setup for the spin-off. So this is how I'd do it. Crowley and Abbadon and their fight over Hell.


**Lucky Number Slevin**

Crowley hasn't been in Hell since … he isn't sure since when, a while. He hasn't left the penthouse since before they've called truce, that much he does know, and for sure he hasn't left it after that.

Abbadon has never gotten the finer points of the integrity needed in this business – a deal was a deal, you can use loopholes and sloppy wording to your advantage but you don't break it, you never break a deal – so Crowley doesn't trust this so called truce with Abbadon. Not one bloody bit.

_Truce_, stifling his laughter Crowley rolls to his back, silky sheets rustling under him. Truce, a glorified way to say _stalemate_ where neither of them can move in any direction but they both are too stubborn to back down.

"Because backing down means dying." Crowley tells the empty bedroom and makes himself more comfortable on the bed. "And letting that bitch win."

The last dose of blood is wearing off, he feels it, and he wants more. And maybe one of those eager little demons to join him in this way too empty bed.

But he has to stay sharp, focused.

"Maybe I should lay off the blood for a while." He tells nobody in particular. He should get out of bed and present himself to his minions. He is the king after all.

But if he's honest, Crowley is bored out of his mind. Stuck in this damn penthouse – okay, she doesn't have it any better in her penthouse across the street and that alone makes it almost worth it – Crowley has nothing to do.

He's a king in exile and can only rule from afar – over half the kingdom but that's a fact he likes to gloss over – until he has established his leadership over Hell again.

He can't set a bloody foot in Hell without risking to get captured by Abbadon supporters, hell, he can't even leave this building, but he's made damn sure she's in the same predicament.

At least in this small haven he's safe. The building is well-fortified, no angel, demon or anything else natural or supernatural can get in without using one of the two entries. Well guarded entries, that is. Only handpicked demons in the building and access to the penthouse have only five of them, his most trustworthy, most loyal henchmen. Crowley snorts at that thought.

There's one other way in and out of the building but Crowley is pretty sure he's killed everybody who knew about it and he keeps that little bit of information to himself. You never know when a secret escape way might come in handy.

A knock at the door interrupts Crowley's thoughts and for a moment he thinks of pretending to be busy with the files on the nightstand – Abbadon's latest little project – but he's already thrown a wrench into that particular one, namely one moose and his squirrel who don't like to be used like this but couldn't just sit there and let innocent people die either.

"Sir?" Kyle, the demon who functions as his manservant – not that Crowley would say that to his face … often – pokes his head in without waiting for Crowley to call him in.

"What?" He only lifts his head for a second and otherwise stays sprawled on the bed.

"Amanda is back, she's waiting in the living room for you, sir." Balancing a tray with one hand Kyle closes the door behind himself and steps closer to the bed, not batting an eye at Crowley's nonchalance. "Seems like it were angels and not Abbadon taking out our people."

Crowley hmms to that, the angels are fighting their own war among each other but this has reeked of angels from the beginning. And as much as Abbadon wishes, not everything going wrong in Crowley's business is her fault. Not that this little fact keeps her from bragging about it.

Out of the corner of his eye Crowley watches Kyle while he sets the tray on the nightstand. His hands shake slightly, barely noticeable, but Crowley hasn't become the King of Hell for missing telltales like this.

"Better not keep Amanda waiting." Crowley dismisses the tray with its three syringes completely and ushers Kyle out of the way. "Before she finds my whiskey."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and head hanging, Crowley gives the perfect picture of the shaky addict he is – acknowledgment is the first step, right? – and he feels a little bit dizzy but not that much.

"Maybe you want some of this first, sir." Kyle says in that devote tone of his which always puts Crowley's teeth on edge. "Seventeen year old virgin, exquisite."

He offers Crowley one of the syringes filled with blood and seeing the blood alone is tempting. Crowley licks his lips.

"I really shouldn't." He sits up straighter. "First I should hear Amanda's report."

"What's one little drop of blood?" Kyle bribes him with a knowing smile. "Why not take one now and save the rest for later? You'll feel better in a minute, sir."

"How do I deserve you?" Crowley takes the syringe and pats Kyle's arm with his other hand. "Remind me to reward you."

"Thank you, sir." With his head respectfully bowed Kyle steps back to give him some privacy while Crowley pushes up his sleeve.

"Which reminds me." Crowley pauses and now he's looking directly at Kyle. "What did she pay you?"

"Pardon?" Kyle asks and all of a sudden all color has left his face.

"You heard me." Crowley stands up, leaving all traces of weakness behind. Kyle takes a step back, he's always been a coward.

"I don't understand." He tries to play it cool, as if he's now idea what Crowley is talking about, but he's eying the door.

"You could have come to me for a counter offer, you know?" He spreads his hands, one still holding the syringe but no way he's going to pump that blood into his vain. "I'm a salesman, I can be negotiated with."

"Yes, sir." His voice is trembling now and he backs off another step.

"We could have used this to our advantage. As a back door into Abbadon's inner circle." Crowley makes another step, cutting his path to the door, and Kyle's back hits the wall.

"Please, sir." He has nowhere to go now.

"I trusted you." Crowley says with just a little hint of disappointment. "As far as demons can be trusted." He adds as a afterthought.

Done playing around he rams the needle into Kyle's chest and presses the plunger. Kyle goes down in a spastic heap, mouth open for a scream or maybe to smoke out but nothing comes out.

"What did you put in there anyway?" Curious Crowley eyes the now empty syringe. "Salt?"

With interest he watches the black lines crawling like little snakes under Kyle's skin, working their way up his throat and around the mouth, Crowley even catches a glimpse of them on his tongue, until they reach the pitch black eyes of the demon.

"Are you going to die from this?" Crowley asks but Kyle is in no condition to answer. However, he is still alive so Crowley figures that one syringe is meant to put one out quickly and the others would finish the job.

"What if I empty another one into you?" Crowley holds the other two syringes in his hand, considering. Kyle's eyes are on him but Crowley isn't sure if he understands anything beyond pain.

"You know, this isn't much fun if you're not participating." He shakes his head at the misery laying at his feet. "And to be honest, I don't want you to die quickly. I've to make an example here, I'm sure you understand."

With that Crowley steps around the spastic body on the ground and opens the door.

"Amanda?" He asks comradely. "Could you give me a hand with this? Oh, and is Chris there?"

The two demons are in his bedroom a second later.

Amanda barley spares a glance in Kyle's direction, who's now able to wheeze so whatever poison he's used is probably wearing off already. Chris is clearly shocked by the situation and needs a moment to compose himself. Crowley makes a mental not to keep an eye on him, though.

"Get him over to the window." He orders and leads the way.

Kyle screams when they pick him up under the armpits and drag him over to the other room, however, Amanda isn't known for mercy and she coaxes some high pitched screams out of her prisoner before he's positioned on his knees in front of the window. His forehead got smashed against the glass – by accident, Crowley is sure of that – but this way he can stay upright more or less on his own. Amanda and Chris watch him like bloodhounds, just waiting for him to make a wrong move, though.

When the screaming ebbs away, Crowley gets his phone and hits speed deal.

"Hello, darling."

"What do you want?"

"Window." Crowley orders, very well knowing that he can't order her around. So he adds softer: "I've something to show you."

He ends the call because there is nothing more to say. Empty threats and accusations, repeated like a broken record for a million times, they've been over this. And even his little victory today is short lived and they both know it.

Across the street he can see her at the window now. She's so close, he can almost see the angry lines around her eyes, and for sure she can see him. And at the same time she's so far out of his reach, she could be on the moon for that matter.

By now Kyle has come around at least a little bit and Crowley thinks it's save enough to give him another shot. He could die from this but it's a risk Crowley is willing to take.

So he stands behind Kyle, who's still on his knees and flanked by demons, and makes a show of grabbing his hair and yanking his head back.

Then he plunges the second syringe in Kyle's chest. The first dose hasn't worn off completely yet and for a second Crowley thinks he's just instantly killed the demon.

But Kyle's still there, in agony but alive.

Who isn't there anymore is Abbadon, though. When Crowley looks over, the other window is empty.

"Oh, I had an encore planned." He wiggles the last syringe between thumb and forefinger.

For a minute the three demons just watch the one on the ground. Every muscle in his body is locked, he gives a good impression of a pretzel, and his mouth is open for a silent scream.

"I think he's coming around again." Amanda observes with a critical eye.

"Better get him out of my living room, then." He hands her the last syringe. "Here, have some fun with this and whatever your twisted mind comes up with. Make him really sorry for betraying me."

"Yes, sir." She answers with a wolfish grin.

"And you." So suddenly addressed Chris flinches back. "Get me some clean blood, something good. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." His voice shakes a little bit and he makes a hasty retreat.

Crowley follows him with his eyes until the door fells shut behind him.

"Keep an eye on him."

Amanda nods to that and then drags her new toy out of the room. By now Kyle is able to scream again, a raw, agonized sound like a wounded animal, but it's cut off by the heavy door closing behind him.

Finally alone Crowley stands in the living room and stares over to the empty window across the street.


End file.
